Rock Bottom
by Pyewacket75
Summary: One-shot, written for the FOX LAS challenge. House's inner thoughts about the agony of detoxing. Takes place in season 3 during the Tritter arc.


_**A/N: This was written for the FOX_LAS challenge and it won by default because nobody else submitted a fic. I'm blown away by that. It wasn't that hard of a prompt! The prompt being "agony". There were a lot of members, some used skips and some just didn't submit anything at all. Oh well. 2 wins in a row? I'll take it. haha. Anyway, enjoy. This might be one of the few dark fics you'll get from me.**_

Disclaimer: I don't own House. If I did, he wouldn't be in so much pain all the time.

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**Rock Bottom  
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_Please! If anyone can hear me, make it stop! I don't know how much more of this I can take!_

I'm sitting on the couch in the dark. Shivering. Flashes of hot and cold constantly wrack my body. It occurs to me that pleading to someone who isn't there is just plain pathetic but I'm in too much pain to think straight.

The nausea constantly eats at me, causing me to throw up everything I've eaten today. I'm severely dehydrated and even though I feel hungry, I can't keep anything down. So my stomach just keeps on gurgling and cramping. Trips to the bathroom are not easy. Sometimes I don't make it in time. Man, I really hope nobody will be coming by. This place certainly doesn't smell like roses. Not like it ever did, but still...

The spasms in my leg are intolerable. Not even Morphine would be much good. In fact, in the state I'm in, a shot of it would probably kill me.

Of course, that's not even a worst case scenario anymore. I think I can safely say that I've indeed hit rock bottom. There's nowhere to go but up at this point, but things aren't looking good there, either.

_Damn you, Tritter! Damn you to hell! What the fuck do you care that I popped a pill while treating you? I wasn't lying when I said I should've used a bigger thermometer. But then you probably would've liked it, so where's the fun in that?_

_And where the hell is Wilson? You're supposed to be here, playing the good, caring friend as always. Pshht. Some friend you turned out to be. Cutting a deal behind my back? You really thought I'd take it? If you really were my best friend, you'd find a way to get me some Vicodin so I wouldn't have to go through this hell. I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy. _

I spot the letter opener on the coffee table and reach for it. The edge isn't sharp by any means, but there is a sharp bit on there that would get the job done. Cutting myself would produce some endorphins. Small consolation. An orgasm would be a hell of a lot more pleasant. That is, if I could even get it up. Not a chance of that happening, and not for lack of trying, either. That was my first idea. Epic fail. The pain is just too overpowering.

Still...relief would be nice, even if it was only temporary.

I take in a deep breath as I cut through the skin of my left forearm. Not once. Not Twice, but three times. _Three time's a charm, so they say_.

I hiss from the pain for a moment but the relief is there, even if it might be short lived. I grab a towel nearby and wrap it around my arm.

A knock at the door startles me, even though it was a soft knock. All sounds are twice as loud with an echo.

"Unless you have Vicodin, go away!" I call out. My voice sounds weak, and maybe even a little vulnerable.

"House, it's me," Cameron says quietly from the other side of the door.

I groan softly and throw my head back. _Oh God, not you! Anyone but you! I can't have you see me like this! Please, just turn around and go away. I don't deserve your attention. I don't deserve anything. Just go!_

But something makes me get up and answer the door. It's a long shot, but maybe she has pills. Even if it's just one. Anything would be better than nothing.

As soon as Cameron sees me, she takes in my bleary, tired eyes, hair plastered to my forehead with sweat. She looks shocked at my appearance, and maybe even afraid for me. Like it's worse than she anticipated. _I've got news for you, sweetie. It's much worse than you ever imagined_. I look away quickly and she notices the bloody towel. Shoving her way in, I realize she isn't going to leave until she takes care of it and so I close the door behind her.

Of course she doesn't have any pills. She cleans the cuts, urges me to take Tritter's deal. I give her a diagnosis on the patient in return and she leaves quickly, leaving me to suffer in silence, puking as my arm throbs endlessly. It's going to be a long night.

At this point, I don't care if I never see the morning sun.

Agony. That's what this is.

I don't know how much more of this I can take.

**The End.**

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_**So whaddya think? Would you have voted for or against it? hehe.**_


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